


Gimme The Signal, Gimme The Go

by gipsydanger



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Feelings, Kissing, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i honestly have no idea what's going on, such much OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 16:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5934826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gipsydanger/pseuds/gipsydanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan has a hiding place. Kavinsky finds it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gimme The Signal, Gimme The Go

**Author's Note:**

> Kavinsky is my trash son (who suddenly speaks Russian even though I'm not really sure if he does (just because I can't write my first fic in English without using the native language at all)), Ronan is dark and complicated which is always nice and I just love them boys way too much for my own good. The name is from the song Gimme The Go by Doomtree and you definitely should listen to it because every line fits this pairing so perfectly that it hurts (and also because this band is like the best??????????). Please shout at me for all the mistakes (whether it's the plot or the language use) but also I can't handle criticism so idk, whatever.

Henrietta wasn't a very nice place to live, even at night. Darkness didn't hide the plainness of torrid streets, the indifference of bleak buildings. Even those street lights that magically turn the most boring locations into something dreamy seemed not to do the same job here. They only irritated. But Gansey once told him that only such an uninviting location could hide the real magic underneath and of course he believed. Because he knew.  
It's not that he hated his hometown. In fact, he wouldn't have traded it for anything else in the world. But sometimes he had to rub his eyes, shut them real tight and not to look for a few moments. Because all that motionless of bleached everything could drive him insane if he stared too closely. And probably would. One day.  
And every time things got too much, he walked. Didn't take his precious BMW, left Chainsaw at Monmouth, and just walked. He didn't go to the Barnes or Cabeswater or whatever place it made sense to go to. Instead, he went four or five miles outside the town, to the empty wasteland where you were so utterly alone under the clear sky that you might easily forget about the rest of the world. About stupid blinding lights of the dry colorless town, about pointless classes and everything that he would've missed once lost.  
It was one of these days. Ronan's head was buzzing with other people's voices, hands shook with desire to punch somebody in the throat, eyes were dry and begged to be scratched.  
"Man, you okay?" Gansey put a hand on his shoulder and looked into the weary redden eyes.  
"Fine," he shrugged and went to his room to change from the Aglionby uniform into something less infuriatingly pretentious. People were jerks, weather was a bitch and it made so much sense to just go and get drunk, but deep down he knew that at least some effort had to be put to graduate. It was least he could do. Not to get drunk. Not to get drunk.  
Chainsaw blinked sleepily from her cage at the sound of ruffling clothes. She flew out of the open cage door and landed at the night stand.  
“Kerrah,” she cried, and Ronan wiggled his shoulder a bit, not stopping his attempts of finding something to change into. The raven once again flew and gripped her owner’s offered shoulder with the claws, with enough force not to hurt but to let him fully acknowledge her presence there. She also bit the shell of his ear slightly, just to make sure he does.  
“Would you like it if I bit you, Chainsaw?” said Ronan, facing the bird. She just blinked at him and made a small unsure sound, probably of disagreement. “Neither do I like that, you sneaky creature. Also, you stay here tonight and keep an eye on whatever you want to keep your eyes on, understood?”  
Chainsaw then left his shoulder, floated under the ceiling a little, cawed down at him and sat on top of the cupboard, looking as pissed as a raven could. Ronan finally changed, took a leather jacket so he wouldn’t freeze in the middle of the wasteland at night and waved her goodbye.  
“I’m going out, will be back eventually,” he said to Gansey who was reading a book that looked like it belonged a few centuries back.  
“You’ve got classes tomorrow,” Gansey answered, not looking away from the page he was on. It sounded more indifferently than it probably should’ve, but all of them were a bit tensed due to, well, many things, and Ronan didn’t put much thought into it. In the end, Gansey cared more than Ronan ever could in his life, and a single slip didn’t change much.  
“If Noah shows up, tell him he’s and idiot and that I don’t forgive card debts”.  
“Sure”.  
Weather was in fact a bitch when he headed out of the parking lot. The sky was boring grey, the air felt heavy and awfully sticky, and even though it was the end of April, it felt like autumn. Ronan loved autumn – well, not loved, but as much as didn’t hate it – but that day wasn’t any kind of nice or at least bearable.  
It wasn’t going to get dark for another hour or so and Ronan took his time walking through the northern outskirts of Henrietta. Monmouth Manufacturing was situated pretty far from downtown hence he didn’t have to meet many people on the way; the earphones were blasting with something no sane person could willingly listen to. He was trying not to think. A tiny lizard sneaked by his feet, with skin as dusty as the rest of the surrounding landscape, disappearing into the roadside grass. Ronan was almost out of town and when he saw an old abandoned gas station, he turned left, leaving the road behind. The sound was coming from behind the station, drunk voices and some rap-electronic-soul-jazz-shit kind of music, but Ronan wouldn’t bother checking even if he could hear it over the wicked shrieking in his own ears. He just kept walking towards his own destination.  
The purple twilight started overcasting everything around. Passing clouds were colored bright pink, desert rocks seemed almost ethereal, like huge cotton candy piles many feet tall in the middle of the wasteland. Ronan felt the tension in his legs from a long walk and decided not to go any farther. He listened closely. Not a sound could be heard from the town. There were only cicadas somewhere in the yellowed grass by the rocks and the shuffling of the sand when the wind blew. It felt good.  
Ronan looked up. Then closed his eyes. Then inhaled as much air as he could and screamed. It was a low feral shout, desperate and somehow fascinating, like a wild animal manifesting his freedom. A few birds cried back at him from the distance. He screamed and screamed until that moment came when you can’t make a sound anymore because your breath is too uneven and kind of caught in your throat, blocking anything that may come out. Then he fell on the ground. It was almost completely dark.  
Ronan didn’t know for how long he lay there, unmoving. The stars began to appear on the clear sky and the temperature dropped significantly. He was gripping the sand with his right hand, absentmindedly running fingers through it. For a second he thought there was the sound of someone approaching, uneven but firm footsteps. But then everything went silent again. Ronan shivered, sat upright and put his jacket on. There was the flapping of wings, like someone scared the flock of birds off. He tensed. It would be surprising to see a person here in the middle of the night. Or not a person. Ronan looked around for a stone or anything else he could use to protect himself, just in case. Then he heard a voice.  
“The fuck you doing here, Lynch”.  
In mere seconds Ronan’s emotions went from fear to relief to surprise to annoyance to anger. Joseph Kavinsky himself was standing about ten feet away from him, swaying slightly from side to side, looking smug but chill. It didn’t change the fact that he somehow appeared in Ronan’s hiding place though. In fact it was so unlikely that the first thing that came to mind was:  
“Did I fall asleep and you’re in my dream or what?”  
Kavinsky only grinned at that.  
“Do you dream of me, wonder boy? I’m flattered”.  
No, it wasn’t a dream. It was something that made much less sense. Seeing confusion on Ronan’s face, Kavinsky explained:  
“We were hanging out at the old gas station, and then I saw you walking fuck knows where, and then I heard screams and I thought that you were being murdered and wanted to see that so here I am”.  
“Well, I’m alive and well as you can see, so you can fuck off to whatever place shelters animals like you”.  
“Come on, I won’t leave until you share your little secret with me, Lynch”.  
Ronan looked annoyed. Ronan was annoyed and wanted to be left alone, not to talk with stupid Russian mobsters about why he was in the middle of the desert, well, alone.  
“The secret is that I bang your mom, you idiot”.  
“That was too lame even for you, wonder boy. Here, stand up and tell me all the dirty thoughts of yours while we walk to the car”.  
Kavinsky outstretched one hand, offering it to Ronan to stand up. He considered the offer, looking Kavinsky from head to toes. His tank top was offensively white, jeans painfully clean and smirk insufferably smug, so Ronan reached to take his hand, took it and then tugged with all the force he had.  
“Блядь, Линч, хуйни ты кусок,”* Kavinsky said in Russian, lying on his side beside Ronan with his eyes wide. He clearly did not expect such a betrayal so his only reaction was to kick Lynch in the leg with a heavy sneaker, but the kicked one barely noticed anything, laughing his ass off at the confusion on Kavinsky’s face.  
“This funny to you, Lynch?”  
Ronan couldn’t stop chuckling at the offended childish look on Kavinsky’s face.  
“You’re amusing, Joseph”.  
“Oh yeah? Laugh at this, asshole”. And he pushed Ronan with both hands, forcing him to roll to his side. Now both of them were dirty; pissed off Joseph Kavinsky, looking like he could and would fight the sun, and Ronan Lynch with an enormous grin on his face.  
“Jesus, Kavinsky, chill. There’s such thing as washing machine, you’re not gonna be dirty forever”. Kavinsky’s face immediately lit up at that.  
“Oh, I’m always dirty, Lynch”.  
Ronan rolled his eyes and lay on his back. Kavinsky gave up being offended and did the same. They lay in silence for a while. Stars were shining down from the clear darkening sky and it was getting a bit colder with each minute, but just being there felt nice. Not that either of them would ever admit that.  
“It was a nice try, Lynch, but I still wanna know”.  
“Of all people you’re the least likable person to know my secrets”.  
“Come on, sweetheart,” Kavinsky said in a cooing voice, rolling to his side to face Ronan, “we should not hide anything from each other”.  
Ronan didn’t dignify that with an answer. Music was still playing in his earphones that were poking out of the t-shirt collar, and Kavinsky took one to put it in his own ear. The cord didn’t want to come out of the tee and get any longer, so he had to get closer to Ronan for his ear to reach it. They now were about five inches apart, but neither seemed to want to get any farther away from each other.  
“Why the fuck do you listen to this shit?” Kavinsky said loudly over the screams coming from the earbud.  
“With pleasure,” Ronan smiled mockingly and put another one in his ear. Then the next song came on. It wasn’t very Lynch-like – no Irish motives in the melody, no ugly screaming, but firm beat and nice recitative instead. Ronan hurriedly reached in his pocket to pull out the phone and skip the song but it was all too late. Kavinsky’s expression already changed from mildly disgusted to overly excited.  
“Is this Doomtree? Ronan Wonder Boy Lynch, do you listen not only to something different from your usual medieval scream trash, but to one of the greatest hip-hop collectives of our time that also happen to be my one of my faves? What exactly is going on right now?”  
Ronan was caught. He was caught on something worse than screaming alone in the night in the middle of nowhere with no adequate reason, which was quite something. He was willingly listening to what Kavinsky usually listened to and it was wrong for so many reasons. He felt embarrassed and his face burned, but it wasn’t that obvious in the creeping darkness so he decided to act chill and not let Kavinsky mock him.  
Because what he didn’t have to know was that Ronan once heard the song playing from his car and liked it as much as finding it later and downloading whole band’s discography on the phone.  
“They’re okay. This song is okay. I heard it on the radio, I think. While driving with Gansey. In his car”.  
Very chill. Kavinsky looked all smug and proud. Ronan did not look in his direction. The song was still playing. Kavinsky shifted and sprawled on his back. His bare arm lay against the cold leather of Ronan’s jacket and he shivered.  
_“So with the fog at our backs and your gods on retreat / We’ll release you from your struggles like… / Gimme the signal, gimme the go / There’s no odds to be stacked and no law to be seen / It’s just us and nothing but the cold / Gimme the signal, gimme the go…”_ , the voice in the earphones sang and Kavinsky turned his head to face Ronan.  
“It’s cold,” he said and closed his eyes.  
“You’re wearing a jacket, asshole,” Kavinsky said but felt that something shifted in the air, like it wasn’t the best time to be sarcastic.  
“No, like, it’s cold, not I am”.  
“Stating the obvious now, okay. Well, the sky is darkening. Your turn”.  
But instead of taking his turn or saying something equally sarcastic or flipping Kavinsky off, Ronan put his weight on the right arm and hovered over another boy’s face. Close. Kavinsky squeaked weakly at the sudden invasion of his personal space.  
_“Wasted breath, I’ll take your last…”_ , another voice rapped and Ronan closed the remaining distance between his and Kavinsky’s faces with a small animal-like sound and kissed him.  
Not exactly kissed, as for a few seconds Kavinsky wasn’t responding and just lay there, motionless and shocked. But Ronan didn’t pull away, so he decided to test the ground by parting his lips a little. Then the fireworks of a dozen Fourths of July went off as Ronan licked Kavinsky’s lips in response. It was so unreal for both of them that they kept their eyes open, staring in one another’s eyes. But then Kavinsky did a very dirty thing of sliding his tongue deep into Ronan’s mouth at which he moaned and finally shut his eyelids tight. Kavinsky smiled into the kiss. Ronan reached to poke him in the ribs with one hand and then just left it resting on his ribcage. Kavinsky then remembered that he had hands of his own and put one on the base of Ronan’s head and another on his back, gripping at his shirt. They stayed like that for a couple of minutes, but the arm Ronan was keeping his weight on gave way and he collapsed on Kavinsky’s chest.  
“Shit, Lynch, careful”, he shouted and kicked Ronan in the shin. The distance was too little for the kick to actually hurt but Ronan caught up on the game and bit Kavinsky in the neck below his ear. He squeaked.  
“Going harsh, huh? As you wish”, Kavinsky said and put his cold hand under Ronan’s shirt, on the small of his back. The skin there was hot and Ronan unintentionally pushed himself farther into Kavinsky’s chest, trying to avoid the freezing touch.  
“KAVINSKY YOU PIECE OF SOVIET SHIT,” Ronan shouted, then reached down and bit Kavinsky’s bottom lip. Hard. And was immediately rolled on his back, pinned down and kissed.  
They made out for a little while, tongues shoved deep and lips bitten hard, but Kavinsky decided not to ignore the obvious any longer and thrust into Ronan. They both were already hard and it was the most natural thing to do, but Kavinsky moved just once, waiting for response. Which came in strong hands sliding down his sides and gripping his ass, pulling him down once again.  
“Doing great, Lynch?” Kavinsky said smugly into Ronan’s mouth. What he didn’t expect was Ronan shoving him off of himself and sitting up.  
“What?”  
“What “what”, Kavinsky,” Ronan said and looked down at his hands.  
“Ronan”.  
The name coming out of Kavinsky’s mouth felt weird. All of what was happening felt weird and unreal. Kavinsky sat by Ronan’s side.  
“Look, wonder boy, I know we’re not friends or whatever, but, ugh” Kavinsky started, obviously not knowing where he was going with that, “I, uh, am not your enemy, I guess? What the fuck, Lynch, I don’t know what I’m saying, help me here a little, would you?”  
“I don’t know. Shut up”.  
“Very nice”, Kavinsky huffed, a little offended, “Do I have to go now or what?”  
Ronan looked up at him with somewhat bewildered expression, then put his head down again, sighed nervously and got up to his feet, starting to pace around like a hunted animal. Kavinsky stood up as well, not knowing what to do. But then Ronan was right in front of him, looking straight in the eye at first, then down his body. Kavinsky shivered. The next thing he felt was a hand at his neck, not quite choking but holding firmly. He stared at Ronan. It seemed like he didn’t quite know what he was doing himself. Kavinsky carefully brought his hand to Ronan’s face. The hold on his throat tightened just a little. It felt exactly like trying to calm a wild animal down. He drew his face just a little bit closer to Ronan’s. No attempt of murder.  
“If you try to choke me, I’ll break your fucking hand”, Kavinsky said quietly and kissed Ronan with most gentleness he could manage. His hand let go of Kavinsky’s neck, resting on the shoulder instead. The kiss was almost chaste, no tongues of teeth, but soft fondness in each tiny movement. Neither had any idea where it came from, but both seemed to enjoy it nonetheless. Then Ronan pulled away, only to rest his forehead against Kavinsky’s who grinned like a maniac.  
“You’re such an asshole, Lynch”.  
“And you’re a trash, Kavinsky”.  
“Fuck you”.  
“Fuck _you_ ”.

\---

*Fuck, Lynch, you piece of shit


End file.
